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Aaron LaLux Nov 2017
Who cares who shot JFK I wanna know who shot Tupac,
who cares about the CIA's JFK Files release date,
it’s 2017 and I’m on a plane watching All Eyez On Me,
flying westbound outta the Westside of LA,
on All Hallow’s Eve and it’s all feeling kinda spooky,
because I’m on this plane with another Libra The Boy Drake,

and I don’t care who shot JFK,
I want to know who shot Tupac,
met Suge two times and got the feeling he didn’t,
plus when they hit Pac even Suge got two shots,

so who shot Tupac,
as I write with all I’ve got,
in red ink as my red eyes blink,
pen lines looking like blood drops,

all eyes on me,
until my eternal slumber,
but enough about the words,
what about the numbers,

75 million albums sold,
713 songs,
7 films that’s 777,
same as the title of the latest book I put out,

seems Tupac and I,
share a mutual obsession with the #7,
plus his last album Killuminati was subtitled 7 Day Theory,
not to mention the fact that Pac was shot on September 7th,

as I trace the early similarities,
between me and Tupac,
I think back to when I almost signed with Suge,
and I too feel like Tupac,

I too was raised in New York,
I too got put on in LA,
I too almost lost my soul in Vegas,
I too am both profane and a saint,
I too feel confused and conflicted,
I too both sin and pray,
I too write with a sense of urgency,
because I too know tomorrow isn’t promised today,

I too have found my street instincts to be risky,
I too have gotten it on at the Luxor,
I too know there’s a thin line,
between Love & Hate and between Enemies & Lovers,

trapped between over the top celebrities,
and detectives undercover,
and I’ll a pirate sailor sailing high,
but still I have to fight from going over,

oh Lord,
forgive me for I know not what I do,
and maybe the reason I feel guilty,
is because I waste my gifts on **** and *****,

choose,
your own adventure,

lost,
caught up in the trap that’s why they call it a trap,
winnin’ till when that window rolls down and you don’t know,
if it’s gonna be a gun shot or a camera snap,

I know what’s coming even though I don’t know when,

signing my own death certificate,
like Pac signing to Death Row,
see he thought he was just giving Suge his Music,
but really what he was giving him was his soul,

nobody know when they’re gonna go,
we’re at the table at the Last Supper till they pull our card,
which I guess is sickeningly befitting,
considering Tupac was shot in Vegas on Las Vegas Blvd.,

and all that’s left of him,
is this movie that I watch on this plane,
and what’s happened to our music,
lost Tupac and gained Drake,

and that’s not a shot at Drake,
I mean Drake’s cool,
I’m flying with him to Australia,
but Drake doesn’t have Tupac’s soul,

our music has been watered down,
now Hip Hop sounds like Pop Rock,
I mean how can you even compare,
Hotline Bling to Keep Your Head Up,

what the fck,

how’d we go from Black Panther,
to ***** cat,
how’d we go from I Ain’t Mad At Cha,
to Best I Ever Had,

and I’m not even mad,
I mean I respect Drake for sure,
he gets that money and has always been good to me,
but Drake is no Tupac that’s for sure,

but I won’t elaborate further because,
we all know what happens when you ask too many questions,
so I’ll just keep getting my money and writing my books,
& keep going to church without admitting confessions,

and I’m ending,
this poem right here with an RIP,
RIP to Tupac,
Rest In Peace,

another leader slain,
and I’m so caught up I forgot what I was saying,
even forgot where I was,
which is flying westbound on this plane,

writing verses in blood red ink,
feeling like Pac All Eyes on me,
wondering who shot Tupac pen lines like blood drops,
as I write what I think with all that I’ve got in ink,

ink as red as my red eyes that blink,
sending this poem off as a literary Hail Mary,
with California Love even those it’s Me Against the World,
Keep Your Head Up & congratulations Brenda’s Got A Baby,

and I know I’ll likely Live & Die in LA,
so I wonder if there’s a Heaven for a G,
& if there is Dear Mama I’ll meet you at **** Mansion,
& please know I Ain’t Mad At Cha but I’ve gotta go so peace…

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

30/10/17
I've never told anyone about this, but I've met Suge Knight several times and he was always cool with me. We flew to JFK airport in NYC & discussed a lot of things. I wasn't going to mention this but a combination of factors led me to coming out about it. 1st of all a photo of me and Suge popped up online, 2nd, the JFK papers were released last week, 3rd, I flew with Drake to New Zealand, and 4th, I watched All Eyez On Me on the flight... Which led me to writing the following poem. Please let me know your thoughts on this, or anything else related to Tupac, Suge Knight, JFK, Drake, or your boy Aaron La Lux... ∆
Ston Poet Dec 2015
Uhh..(Yeah2)..I'm feeling this one man,..Uhh..(Yeah man6)..burn up & listen Yeah man..Uhh

/This for (my ****** Disciples2)/2..
Yeah this (for my2) (My ****** Disciple ******3)..
/Yeah This is for (my ****** Disciples *****2)/2
(Yeah This is for my ****** Disciples2).. Yeah. for my ****** Disciples..Yeah..(my ****** Disciples2)..yeah..This is for all of (my ****** Disciple ******3)..yeah..This is (for my ****** Disciples2)..yeah This is (for all of my ****** Disciple ******2)..Yeah (my ****** Disciple ******2)...Uhh
(We mobbing2)..Yeah *****,..(we mobbing4)..Uhh, This is for my ****** Disciple ******,Yeah..(we mobbing4)..Uhh, This is for my ****** Disciple ******, Yeah..(we mobbing3)..Yeah we mobbing.. Yeah ***** (we mobbing3)..(***** we mobbing2)..Yeah
(we mobbing..2)

Yeah ***** we mobbing..we robbing Uncle Sam, for all of his loot homie, forget being a Uncle Tom *** ***** mane,..(we mobbing
3)..,Yeah ***** we Thugging, Uhh, we standing tall man, yeah ***** (we mobbing..3)
We doing whatever we want ***** (Yeah
2)..for real man,..Uhh..I'm one of the realest rappers that's still here my *****, it seems like all of my real ones getting killed, disappearing, or leaving the game, I guess they time what's up like Kobes, no disrespect to none of the ogs, I gotta give thanks because they all paved the way for a younging like me to rise above all of the fakes..

OFTR we rising up mane, like grass that hasn't been cut for weeks, Aye,..(I'm wit all of my ****** Disciples2) yeah..my ****** Disciple ******, & we disturbing the peace, & killing stages every city we in ..Aye mane..like Al Capone, We just being gangsters yeah,..Like a real gangsta I move in silence my *****, **** having friends,.. I don't talk to nobody, I got too much dope to sell  man..Noo I can't trust too many of these ******* & ****** these days, they all look like snakes dawg.. & They been shedding tryna blend in, but I see right through all of that fake fucc ****..Yeah

I know that these **** boys been plotting to rob me, Ayo they better not rob me, if they know whats best foe em mane..then Yeah they better not try it, Noo, they don't like me, no they don't gotta like me but yall ******* will respect me tho,..& that's Fo sure, Fo sho,..Noo them demons won't stop me, they can't hurt me..,I'm protected by the Grace of Jesus, Thanks,.. Aye..
Why y'all hating,all of you ignorant ******* can learn something from me homie..just (pay attention
2)

Don't trust nobody2
Nobody at all mane, because these ***** *** ****** will sacrifice yo *** for the money just like P.Diddy did to Biggie, just like Suge Knight did to Pac mane..Uhh..
I had to take my shades off so I could see clearly , mentally, Uhh, Lyrically, I'm killing thee Occultic wicked ways that has been introduced into hip hop mane, literally, I dugged up some graves & learned from the best,..Aye I'm the best physically..My mentality is helping my ****** out,not just getting to the money forget being selfish when we can all become rich & legends.. Uhh

Aye,Yeah, roll up that dank my ***** & get paid , man money  ain't everything my *****, Ayo I remember I didn't even pay bills, mane I usta to just sit around my mama house imaginating, & rhyme all day, people said I wasn't doing nothing but being lazy *****, people said I wasn't ever gonna amount to nothing *****, but they didn't know Yeah, they didn't know that I had alot dope, ***** that George Jung, Yeah I had that dope,, & I was getting high off of my own supply, choking, that **** was so different & potent, so I always knew that deep down inside  that somebody mind would fall in line wit OFTR AGENDA, Yeah..Uhh

I'm wit my ****** Disciples *****,..(Yeah *****, we mobbing
2)..(we mobbing*2)..mobbing, This is for all of my ****** Disciple ******, Yeah, This is for my ****** Disciples *****, Aye, OFTR Yeah we mobbing like the 50s *****, Uhh..(I'm so ready *2)..for whatever..
This is for my ****** Disciples..Yeah
The ****** Disciples my *****.
Let's mob man..Uhh
stonpoet.tumblr.com
MoMo Feb 2013
First off I am the ****.
I slap ******* in Target
and steal them electric carts
to get away from the popo
I start low speed chases
down sidewalks on three wheeled motorcycles.
I got arrested, but that's a'ite.

I am the ****.
I start bar fights
with pool cues
and hit ****** with beer bottles.
I throw rocks
through car windows.
I got arrested, but that's a'ite.

I am the ****.
I threaten Subway employees
with my ******* gun
while Suge gets mani-pedis.
I get my motherfucckin' sandwich anyway.
I got arrested, but that's a'ite.

I am the ****.
I got fo kids and I keep my guns in a box.
I smoke ****.
It aint a drug.
Its something you smoke when you want to feel good.
I got arrested, but that's a'ite.
andenrangs poet Mar 2015
jeg så dig danse på en lørdag nat. jeg har aldrig set dig danse før.
det var allerførste gang jeg så dig danse.
du dansede til et nummer komponeret af en mand med et uforglemmeligt og krøllet navn.
og hele rummet summede af lyden af et klaver der blev slået an af en rystende finger og violin strengene der dansede rundt i luften, efterlod rummet i en skygge af pulver drømme og stjerner der faldt ned omkring dine fødder.

du dansede noget der kunne minde om en vals. men du dansede den alene.

vil du ikke danse lidt med mig i stedet for at gøre det helt alene? det ser så ensomt ud. smukt, dog ensomt.

du trak på smilebåndet. men så ej på mig.

så kom herhen.

du tog mig pludselig i dine arme og scenen var din, min, og vores. jeg har aldrig danset. kun i stuen som lille i min mors gamle balletskørt.
og det gik op for mig hvor perfekt min spinkle krop passede i den silhuet der før var udfyldt af noget ingen andre end du kunne se.

og scenen var din, min, og vores.
verden forsvandt omkring os mens vi dansede mellem stjernerne.
jeg forsøgte at få del i dine tanker ved at lade mig suge ind i dit blik....men du havde travlt med at koncentrere dig om dine trin. ikke bare for dansens skyld, men det blik du anstrengte dig for ikke at sende mig handlede ikke blot om dansen men angsten for at træde forkert.
hvad ville der ske hvis du så mig i øjnene?
jeg kunne mærke din kropsvarme helt ind i sjælen mens du snurrede mig rundt. let og elegant og tilbage i dine arme.

se på mig.

stjernene var for længst faldet ned men var ikke længere at finde for mine fødder. for du så på mig. du så mig lige ind i øjnene, længe nok til at det  begyndte at gøre ondt da du trådte et skridt tilbage men ikke længe nok til at jeg kom ind under huden på dig.

tak for dansen.

følelserne... var de ikke lige der?
og før jeg vidste af det var der ikke længere andet end mig og den sørgelige musik der nu fyldte rummet med opløste håb og tusind fejl og mangler.

på en lørdag nat så jeg dig danse for første gang. jeg havde aldrig set dig danse før. og på en lørdag nat så du mig i øjnene for første gang. du havde aldrig set mig i øjnene før....
.... og jeg har ikke danset siden

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